


Your Results May Vary

by Ebony_Draygon



Category: Gloryhammer (Band)
Genre: Dark!Ralathor, Gen, Knife of Evil, Tragic humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 21:08:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20896136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebony_Draygon/pseuds/Ebony_Draygon
Summary: You should always read the warning label on your Knife of Evil before use.





	Your Results May Vary

Looking back Angus McFife XIII - Prince of the Intergalactic Empire of Fife, Wielder of the Hammer of Glory - tried to pinpoint the exact moment everything went wrong.

Was it when Sub Commander Ralathor was forced to launch the missiles of Nuclear Justice against the Deathknights of Crail and kill their once-friend Ser Proletious? Maybe when Zargothrax had taunted them about his imminent ascension to godhood. Or was it when the Hootsman had arrived in a glorious crash of thunder, sending goblin forces flying, and cleared a path so that all three of them made it to the dark sorcerer.

He was certain when things definitely went wrong: Ralathor shoving him aside before Angus could take his final swing at the dark sorcerer. So he took the blow that had been intended for the young Prince.

Angus pushed himself up and looked in horror as the mysterious hermit staggered back, face contorted in pain as his hand scrabbled at the Knife of Evil still buried in his heart. Angus couldn’t look away. He barely heard the pained roar of the Hootsman as the demi-god of Unst seized the dark wizard by the throat. Any words Hoots wanted to say were lost to his incandescent rage, his face contorted with anger and grief. Zargothrax merely laughed.

“Foolish mortal scum! Even if you have denied my true power I have struck at the heart of you! Your victory shall be hollow and you shall choke on the dust of you-”

“Shut up you pompous, over dressed windbag,” snarled a once familiar voice.

In his surprise, Zargothrax did as he was told. Hoots as well ceased his raging to blink at the hunched figure of Ralathor. The hermit slowly pulled himself up.. His limbs trembled from pain and effort and one hand still clutched at the Knife in his chest. His dark eyes now seemed more sunken and hollow as he glared at the Dark Wizard and demi-god. Seemingly forgotten on the ground, Angus tried to get to his feet as slowly as possible so that he may remain unnoticed for now as Ralathor continued to seethe.

“I have had enough of your over blown, over complicated plots! Every single time you chose to stage one of your great plans for domination you always, and I mean always, choose the caves right next to mine. Once or twice is a coincidence but you go out of your way to annoy me don’t you? You are hardly even a proper wizard! You rely on simple conjuring tricks and flamboyant distraction to achieve your goals. You are pathetic!”

“Um, Ralathor-” began the worried Hoots. Zargothrax meanwhile just hung limply in the Hoot’s grasp, trying to put the broken pieces of his ego back together.

“And you!” Ralathor spat, his attention now solely on Hoots. “Every single time you swan in at the last second to save the day don’t you? You leave me to do all the actual heavy lifting and actual work whilst you swan about being a god or the king of California. Speaking of which you are a literal god here! And you couldn’t have found a little time in your no doubt oh so busy schedule of getting drunk to help me with this rebellion? Maybe helped rescue peasants from Glasgow? Maybe helped deal with the Dreadlord so I didn’t have to use literal nuclear missiles and deal with the fallout for the next few decades?”

“Well Proletius was our friend before and I thought-”

“Oh yes such a good friend that you would happily leave him suffering in that undead state under this limp wizard’s pathetic mind control.” Ralathor paused to glare at Zargothrax again. “But then of course it would be Proletius. After all he would have been dead by now otherwise wouldn’t it? About the only thing he is good at is being dead.”

The Hootsman’s rage reignited briefly. “I won’t have you speak ill of our friend, Ralathor!”

“Come off it,” scoffed the hermit, “we’ve both known him longer dead than we did alive. He suits death better.”

During the scalding exchange between Hoots and Ralathor, Angus finally managed to get to his feet. He carefully lifted his Hammer its wight suddenly so much heavier than before. Ralathor had been stabbed by the Knife of Evil. There was no getting around the fact that his one friend that had been by his side in this dimension was being corrupted right before him. Could he stop him though? Could he truly take the life of his friend? His attention was startled out of his internal dilemma but the sound of Zargothrax being dropped to the ground. Hoots was wildly gesticulating at Ralathor who seemed to be firing back with well aimed missiles of long pent up frustration. To his credit, the dark wizard looked equally unsettled as Angus felt, though that was little comfort.

“That’s never happened to anyone before,” the wizard mumbled. “Normally there’s a lot more pleading and despair and then me mind controlling them. Not...this.”

Angus said nothing. He had little experience to go on but truth be told it seemed as though the Knife of Evil had merely removed Ralathor’s inhibitions. Though for someone as powerful as the mysterious hermit of Cowdenbeath that was actually a fairly dangerous thing. 

AS if to prove the young Prince right Ralathor raised his free hand above his head, his own blood coating his fingers. With a snap, the sub-commander vanished, no trace left of him save for his blood splattered on the ground. All three remaining men stared in shock at where the hermit had once stood. Angus recovered first and quickly struck the still-stunned Zarogothrax with his Hammer to dissolve him into liquid dust. The victory however did indeed feel hollow. Limping slightly, the Prince made his way over to Hoots. He could see the unshed tears that glistened in the demi-god’s eyes.

“He said… my beard was horrible… and my acting is shit,” whispered Hoots, choking back sobs.

“He didn’t mean it,” Angus reassured. They had won for now but he knew that they couldn’t leave the corrupted Ralathor out there. Even if he wanted to return to his hermitic ways, with the poison from the Knife flowing through his veins, they couldn’t let him simply disappear. For now though they needed to recover and help in the retaking of Dundee.

As he led the Hootsman back to the rebel fortress and the remaining warriors of Justice, Angus pondered the prophecy he had read during his search for the Legendary Enchanted Jetpack

“In the fires of Ancient Cosmic Destiny  
Evil will Rise  
And of the Legendary Warriors  
None Will survive”

He somehow doubted that those ancient prophets had realised that their words of fortune would refer to an ancient hermit finally losing his inhibitions at speaking his mind at his unlucky companions.

**Author's Note:**

> And so I join the glorious Forces of Justice here! The idea of what would happen if someone else had been stabbed by the Knife of Evil has been on my mind awhile. After all, everyone has a different definition of 'evil'. Slaughtering peasants in Auchtermuchty is one, and refusing to help when you could and demoralising your friends another.
> 
> It was much more comedic in my head I think.


End file.
